Right Place
by Ms. Writeable This
Summary: He was absolutely in the wrong place, but was Molly? One-shot, Jim/Molly origins, sequel forthcoming.


**Title:** Right Place  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 989  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K  
><strong>Genre:<strong> General, slight romance  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Jim/Molly  
><strong>Summary: <strong>He was absolutely in the wrong place, but was Molly?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock. It belongs to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC. The whole idea of the Great Detective ultimately belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

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><p>She was a little perplexed as to how someone could get lost trying to find the copy room and end up in the morgue but, Molly reasoned as the dark-haired man fidgeted and chuckled nervously, he had said he was new to the job.<p>

"Well, you're definitely not in the right place!" she said brightly and with a laugh, "But, I could show you where it is, if you'd like?" Her cases were all wrapped up for the time being and those charts could wait a while longer.  
>"Oh, I wouldn't want to drag you away from your work for something as silly as this. I'm sure I walked right past it somewhere." He had an easy, genuine smile…it was a nice change of pace from what she usually saw during her long hours down here.<br>"No, it's fine!" She put down the clipboard she'd been carrying and quickly pulled off her gloves, "I'm practically finished here, anyway. I probably won't get any more cases until after lunch!"  
>"Thanks so much," he said, almost breathlessly, giving her another grin as they headed out the door and down the hall, "I feel like such an <em>idiot<em> for getting lost like this…but it's such a big hospital!"  
>She nodded her agreement,"Believe me, I know! There are still parts of this place that I can't navigate. Then again," she added with another small laugh, "I don't get out of the basement much!"<br>"You're lucky then!" he said, "Us in IT, we've got to be running around all over the hospital. I'll have to print myself a map!"

Eventually, as they climbed the two flights of stairs back up to the floor of offices he should have stopped on in the first place, he asked the inevitable question of 'how did a girl like you end up working in a room full of dead bodies?'. She was pleasantly surprised to note that he didn't joke about it or seem disgusted when she explained that she took pride in being able to explain precisely why a person's loved one was no longer with them, that it gave her a sense of stability, and that, besides, she'd always found a peculiar sort of poetry in death. He even seemed intrigued by what she had to say as she iterated how life in her morgue was not as boring as it may seem, with some bizarre causes of death and, of course, the occasional sociopath coming in to give the corpses a good smack. Molly told him about Sherlock Holmes as one would tell any funny workplace anecdote. She didn't mention that he was a complete arse who had led her on and stomped on her heart a dozen times at least, but she thought it. She looked at the handsome man who was currently talking animatedly about a raucous Irish funeral he attended as a boy and staring at her with big dark eyes that seemed safe and blessedly _normal_ and she was suddenly struck with the thought that Sherlock Holmes had been an utter waste of her time and emotions for the last two years.

When they finally reached the elusive copy room, after what had become a leisurely stroll, Jim paused, leaning against the door frame. There was a soft smile playing across all of his features and Molly found herself looking into the nearly black orbs that dominated his face, rethinking her previous assumption that Sherlock had the most beautiful eyes in creation. His blue ones were striking, yes, but like everything else about him it was all show. She'd never seen any real emotion in his eyes, not really, not like the life she was seeing in Jim's. It was a sad to think she'd become so accustomed to Sherlock's visits being essentially the only contact she had with males of the species that she was so fascinated to meet a man who was normal. Because, of course, that was the only reason she was so interested in him, having only met him a few minutes ago.

"Thanks so very much…" he trailed off, obviously hoping to learn her name, but Molly didn't quite notice, still preoccupied with her thoughts. "I'm Jim, by the way," he hesitated here, holding out a hand which she shook, before continuing, "Jim Moriarty."  
>"Oh, I'm Molly…Hooper." She smiled and, much to her own annoyance, let out a bit of the nervous laughter that used to characterize her interactions with Sherlock.<br>"Well, Molly, thank you. It's nice to meet someone genuinely nice around here." He moved as if he was going to head into the copy room, but hesitated again, turning back to face her, and letting out a little laugh of his own. He looked at the tiled floor as he spoke, rubbing the back of his neck, "You mentioned that you don't have any more cases until after lunch? I was, er…I know it's a bit impromptu…but would you maybe like to have lunch with me? I thought I noticed a little café type of place across the street…"

He looked up at her through long lashes with those striking eyes, reminding her suddenly of her cat in an endearingly skittish sort of way.

"I'd love to!" she replied quickly and with a smile. Truth be told, she was surprising herself. She hadn't been on a date of any sort in over a year, but something about Jim had her conscience telling her to go for it.  
>"Great!" he said, relief and happiness flooding his tone, that toothy smile in place on his face once again, "So, I'll be back downstairs around quarter to twelve, yeah?"<br>"Yeah! I'll see you then!"  
>"Great. Bye then!"<br>"Bye!"

Molly walked back downstairs to her morgue, just a little bit giddy. Jim may have inexplicably been two floors too far away from the well-labeled copy room, but she seemed to have been in just the right place at the right time.


End file.
